Homesteaders and Demons
by Bounty Money
Summary: Sam and Dean and a kid who literally fell out of the sky must confront the horrors of late nineteenth century "Minnesota" farm life...and the closest bar is a three-day wagon ride away. One thing's for sure, though. Walnut Grove won't know what hit 'em. Rated M for language
1. Prologue: Mind Fog

_**Author's Note: **__ This idea is what happens when I get insomnia, drink too much Dr. Pepper, and then feel like there's not enough crack!fic in the world._

_The main character/narrator "Thomas" is me. Yes, yes, I committed an act of maniacal egotism and inserted myself as an OC. Flame wars ignite, etc…blah blah. Whatever. _

_Enjoy my bizarro world mash-up and have fun reading. The only thing this is intended to do is make my readers laugh. Nothing else. _

_The main characters and the universes aren't mine; they belong to Eric Kripke, whoever owns the rights to The Little House on the Prairie, I'm not making any money off this and all that other legal mumbo-jumbo__._

Prologue: The Strangest Case of Mind Fog

Madison, Wisconsin, USA

The first-story window was open; the blanket serving as a makeshift curtain fluttered slightly as wisps of fog scudded through the screen, floating toward the oddly shaped lump on the bed.

A smallish figure was sprawled on the mattress face down, feet hanging off the edge, drooling onto the pillow and snoring loudly on the exhale.

The fog became thick in the small bedroom, now moving independently of the draft as it slowly cocooned its target.

The sunlight dispersed the lingering mist in the morning. On the bed was a tangle of sheets and a note that read:

We do not own rights to this character.

We promise to put it back as soon as we've finished playing.

Kisses,

The Fan Fiction Multiverses.


	2. Chapter 1: When Strangers Drop In

_**Author's Note: **__ This idea is what happens when I get insomnia, drink too much Dr. Pepper, and then feel like there's not enough crack!fic in the world._

_The main characters and the universes aren't mine; they belong to Eric Kripke, whoever owns the rights to The Little House on the Prairie, I'm not making any money off this and all that other legal mumbo-jumbo__._

Chapter One: When Strangers Drop In

_Something was bothering me; kind of a "did I leave something dangerous plugged in at home" feeling. I tried to figure out why the thought was trying to drag me away from watching my time results for the Biospheric Energy Wave Body Surfing trials. I was in the qualifying rounds for the Interdimensional Olympics, and there was this Jupiterian stripper giving me a really intense lap dance in a super-cooled nightclub. The poles on the stage were made of polished icicles illuminated from the inside that were growing steadily brighter. _

_Shasssersass wove her seven fingers through my neon blue hair, sliding down so her belly button opened seductively over my gastro-genital nub. Her voice was the deafening squeal of tires coming to a sudden stop on wet pavement as she whispered-. _

Hold on; that wasn't right.

_Wiping a sudden wave of frigid water from my face, I looked at the plutron screen expecting to see footage of iridescent contrails dancing on the underside of my super-sonic boogie board. _

My score wasn't HMK-8243. And since when were the Interdimensional Olympics sponsored by South Dakota?

"Gaaahhh!" I wasn't looking at a score, it was a license plate! I was in the middle of the fucking road **in my underwear**, and there was a fucking **license plate** six inches from my face! Frantic, I crab-crawled backward through freezing, sludgy water to get away from it.

A car door slammed and heavy boot steps came jogging toward me. "Holy shit!"

Ignoring the guy, not entirely sure how I was even still alive, I had to take a lot of deep breaths to get my heart rate down so I didn't pass out, or puke.

"Hey, you hurt, pal?"

Flinching away, I scrambled to my feet. "D-don't th-think s-so." Sticking my hands up under my armpits, I hunched over, shuddering. Where the hell was I; and why was it so fucking cold?

He took off his jacket and handed it to me. "Here."

"Th-thanks." I put it on. Something about the guy was really familiar, but my brain was still stuck on the fact that I'd nearly had a **license plate number** imprinted into my **forehead**.

The man opened a flask and splashed water in my face as I looked up at him.

"What w-was that f-for?"

"You fell out of the air in front of the car, dude. Had to make sure."

Make sure of what? "Is m-my ha-hair b-blue?" The question came out before I could stop myself.

"Uh..No?" He put the flask of water into his back pocket. "Is it supposed to be?"

"Nev-Never mind." I turned around a few times to see what street I was on; nothing. There was a great expanse of darkness and highway around us. Not even a twinkle of a streetlight or anything. "Whe-where are we?"

"Few miles outside Sioux Falls."

"Sou-South Da-Dakota? I li-live in Wis-Wisconsin!"

"Don't know what to tell ya, man." He walked back to the car.

I looked around again and realized I was royally screwed if he took off. My feet were fucking numb. I jumped when the trunk of the car was slammed shut.

The guy came back around with a blanket. "Here, wrap up in this. I don't want the seats getting wet; not my car."

I wrapped up as best I could and shambled over to the passenger side, eyeing the man nervously. My brain finally started putting the puzzle together; he'd splashed me with water, had a slightly bowlegged gait and…I wiped the rain out of my eyes. "Ho-holy sh-sh-shit, you're-"

"Freezing my fuckin' balls off; we can do introductions later, okay?" He jerked his head toward the car. "Come on."

* * *

><p>"You okay, dude?" he asked. "I can feel you vibrating through the seat."<p>

I stared out the window. "Re-really f-freaked out."

"I bet.' He cranked up the heater. "Better?"

"A lit-little."I huddled into the blanket, trying to get my body to stop shaking so hard. Just wanted to sleep. I closed my eyes for a second, but was shaken out of it.

"Hey, stay awake, man; I think you're in shock, or maybe getting hypothermia."

I heard talking, but I'd spaced out and wasn't really tracking what was being said. Just wanted to fucking sleep. Or wake up. Whatever the hell this was.

He kept nudging me every time I shut my eyes. "Way you showed up kinda reminds me of Dogma. You ever see that one?"

I knew what scene he was talking about and couldn't resist saying the line, "Hot, na-naked chicks don't just fall out of the sk-sky, you know!"

He laughed.

"Sa-Salma Hayek's hot in that movie."

"Damn right she is."

He turned the car into a driveway, going under an arched sign for the Singer Auto Self Service Salvage Yard. He flicked the headlights lights off and on as we got closer to a house. "Still with me, pal?"

"Y-yeah."

"Good, 'cause Bobby's gonna want to check you."

* * *

><p>I was hauled out of the car, hurried up some steps, into the house and through a dingy kitchen before getting pushed down onto a couch. A library had apparently thrown up in the living room. There were tons of books stacked all over the place. The place smelled like a gear-headbibliophile's Nirvana: motor oil, rust and other car related odors competing with the musty, crumbly aroma of old, precious books. I wondered if this was my personal heaven. "Am I dead?" I asked, blinking up at Jim Beaver's beard. "Did I die?"

"Nah, you're alive; just had a massive shock," Bobby, or maybe Jim, said gently, piling blankets over me.

* * *

><p>"I don't know how else to explain it to ya, Bobby. He just kinda…fell out of the sky. Literally."<p>

"Well, he ain't a ghost, or a demon. Didn't react to the silver, either."

"So, what, a freak storm picked him up in Wisconsin and dropped him here?"

"I say we go with that 'til we can figure out something else that makes more sense."

* * *

><p>One of those stupid whole-body jerks threw me out of a nice cushion of nothingness and I almost fell off my bed. After a few seconds of groping around for my glasses, it dawned on me that my bed had somehow morphed into a sofa.<p>

Sitting up, I found myself staring at a living room that belonged in a film studio somewhere up in Canada. When I looked up, I saw an actual ceiling instead of giant lights. "I watch waaay too much TV." Leaning forward to get up, I began to realize something else; I wasn't wearing my glasses, or my contacts. Jerking my head up, I began to smile like a total moron. I could see! As I stood up, the blanket slid off my shoulders, bringing up another issue; I was only in my underwear. "Ack!" Picking it up, I wrapped it around my body as fast as I could. "Shit!" Oh God, they'd seen me mostly naked! My heart thudded as a flash of panic zinged up my spine. What if…how was I gonna explain what they saw? A woman with manly chest hair and genitals made of silicone tucked into tighty-whitey underwear isn't exactly normal. I needed to hide. And I had to pee.

"You okay?" Bobby, or maybe it was Jim, came into the living room.

Clutching the blanket tighter around my shoulders, I turned around. "Uh…. need to use the buh-bathroom."

He nodded toward a door near the stairs. "In there."

I hurried past him, hoping my face wasn't too red. "Thanks."

* * *

><p>I caught a look at myself in the bathroom mirror and nearly tripped on the floor mat in front of the sink. Staring in complete disbelief at my reflection, I reached over and touched the glass. A kid, as in maybe fourteen or fifteen, did the same on the other side. "What the <strong>fuck<strong>?" No way was that me. I waved my hand and the boy did the exact same thing. Backing up, still wary, I studied him carefully.

The figure had the same ash-blond hair, blue-gray eyes as me, and my small mouth. His nose and earlobes matched up with mine, too. He even had my Montana shaped coffee-stain birthmark on his stomach, the teeny fish one on his left side and the one on his back.

Taking a deep breath, I looked down at my body and grinned so hard my cheeks hurt. Rubbing my hands over my very male chest and abs, skinny as they were, I couldn't believe it. I wanted to sing, "my tits are gone, my tits are gone," and do a naked celebration dance all around the house, but that would've been **really** awkward.

There was a knock on the door. "Need anything in there?" Jim/Bobby asked.

"Um…." My voice cracked. "No, I'm….I'm good, thanks."

It took a while to stop staring down at myself, and I still had to pee, so I gingerly took hold and aimed for the toilet bowl. "This feels so weird." The stream began to veer dangerously toward the left of the bowl. "Whoa, tricky."

* * *

><p>Bobby (possibly Jim) was waiting outside the door when I came out of the bathroom. "Feelin' okay?"<p>

I nodded. "Thanks for….for everything."

He clapped my shoulder, squeezed it, and steered me back toward the sofa. "Wanna check ya for frostbite, now that you're awake."

"Okay."

"You scared?"

I nodded again. "Little bit."

"We'll get all this sorted out in the mornin'; you just worry about getting your temperature up. You're still kinda cold." He waited until I sat on the couch before pulling a chair over and sitting down across from me. "Name's Bobby Singer."

"Thomas."

I didn't have frostbite, just a few scrapes on my knees, elbows and palms from when I landed on the asphalt. They didn't need any band-aids, just stung like a motherfucker when I slathered on the antibacterial cream Bobby gave me.

He handed me a t-shirt. "Get snug an' try to get back to sleep. I'm turnin' in for the night, but don't worry about hollerin' if you wake up needin' anything."

Pulling the shirt on, I could only manage to nod stupidly at him. Between the warm blankets, the fire and the cozy smell of old books and engine parts, I was getting already starting to doze.


	3. Chapter 2: Side Effects May Include

_**Author's Note: **__ This idea is what happens when I get insomnia, drink too much Dr. Pepper, and then feel like there's not enough crack!fic in the world._

_The main characters and the universes aren't mine; they belong to Eric Kripke, whoever owns the rights to The Little House on the Prairie, I'm not making any money off this and all that other legal mumbo-jumbo__._

_The last name Scanlan is from my maternal great-grandfather's mother's side; they were Famine immigrants, and that's about all I know._

_To anyone from Ireland reading this, I apologize for the attempt at writing in an accent. I'm an American, I've never been there, so my knowledge of accents comes from watching movies and t.v. I'm sorry if I offend anybody._

_Found a bunch of mistakes, fixed them._

Chapter Two: Side Effects May Include…

My right leg kicked at the blanket, the bottom of my foot connected with the arm of a sofa. Why was I on a couch? The side of my face and the pillow was wet with drool. Again. "Gross," I muttered, sitting up. "Weird dreams." Rubbing the gritty feeling from my eyes, I yawned.

There was a thud, followed by a pained, "Ow."

"Chairs're ambush predators," I mumbled, feeling around for my glasses. Then I looked up to see who it was. "AAH!" Scrambling up onto the couch, I wound up perched on the corner of the back and the armrest with my back to the cold glass of the window. "What the fuck is goin' on?"

Dean Winchester, or maybe it was Jensen Ackles, held his hands up. "Whoa, take it easy, kid."

"How…you….you…I…." Oh shit.

"'You remember anything about last night?"

"You said I fell outta the sky in front of your car." I climbed back down onto the couch seat. "In South Dakota?"

He nodded.

"I'm not dreaming, am I?" I noticed the stitched gash on his forehead.

"Fraid not."

Bobby came down the stairs and stopped short when he saw me. "The hell happened to your head, boy?"

"What?"

Dean started laughing. "You've got some seriously funky bed-head going on, dude."

I slapped my hands over the back of my head. Stupid McQuaid cowlicks.

"Shower's upstairs, if you wanna tame that…hair problem…before you eat somethin'." He threw a heavy towel onto my lap. "There's some clothes laid out up there, too. They'll be big, but it's the best I could find."

"Thanks." Looking between them, I got up from the couch and backed away toward the stairs. I was on the verge of a freak-out and needed to get my head screwed back on in private. Soon as my heel hit the bottom step, I turned and bolted up to the second floor bathroom.

* * *

><p>Bobby's house had old plumbing; I had to jump out of the sudden freezing jets of water that sometimes came out with no warning. Made me really glad I'd mastered the art of quick showers in the Navy. Once I was done getting cleaned and dried off, I sat on the toilet for a while to think.<p>

This wasn't a dream; it didn't have those time-jumps and disjointed patterns of non-sequiter scene changes most of my really vivid ones get. So, clearly, this was real. But… "How real is all this? Am I having a psychotic break or something?" Asking that out loud didn't really make me feel any better, just more confused and worried. "Screw this. Freaking out will just make it worse. Just fuckin' go with it." I took a deep breath, let it out, and stood up to get dressed.

Bobby hadn't been kidding about the clothes being too big; they were meant for somebody just shy of six foot. Even as an adult, I was only five-five; the de-aging/gender-swap thing hadn't changed that. I looked like a blond Harry Potter wearing Dudley's castoffs. "All I need are the glasses and lightning scar," I said to my reflection.

I rolled the pant legs up to keep from tripping on them, still not convinced I wasn't dreaming. Or maybe dead. Shaking my head, I decided not to dwell too much on the last thought. "Remember, don't think about the what-ifs," I reminded myself before opening the bathroom door. "Heave windward and haul anchor."

* * *

><p>"Drop it, Sam." Dean sounded worn out and annoyed.<p>

"I just-."

"I said drop it!"

Not sure I should go in, I adjusted the pants for the thousandth time and turned around.

"Hungry?" Bobby asked, walking past me.

"Yeah."

"You're quiet."

"Still freaked out."

He smiled. "Grab a chair."

I followed him in and saw Sam, who had to be a whole foot taller than me, leaning against the kitchen counter. The right side of his face was all bruised to hell. I wondered if this was before or after that scary-assed clown episode with the deranged idiot children.

He looked down at me. "You the kid Dean almost hit?"

Dean scowled over at his brother, wincing as he did. "Who else would he be, Captain Obvious?" He rubbed at the gash on his forehead.

"Feeling better?" Sam asked, ignoring him.

"I guess." I sat down across from Dean. "Still really confused."

"I'll bet." Dean tipped his beer bottle toward me. "Don't worry, you're not hallucinating any of this." He was probably trying to sound reassuring, but it didn't help.

Bobby pulled a plate of eggs and pancakes out from the oven and handed it to me. "Give him a few minutes to eat before we start the interrogation, boys."

* * *

><p>Dean and Sam sat on the couch under the window, while Bobby took the chair at the big desk.<p>

I got the chair that Dean had stubbed his toe on earlier. "So…um…what happens now?"

Bobby opened his mouth to say something, but got distracted by a fluttering sound and looked up.

"Holy Jesus!" Sam jumped up, expecting to fight.

Bobby and Dean drew pistols from the back of their pants, aiming them at something behind me. I dove to the floor, bringing the chair down with me, a yelp coming out of my mouth when I landed.

"That is not who I am," Misha Collins said in his 'I-am-an-angel' voice. "As I have told you; my name is Castiel."

Dean scowled, grip tightening on his gun. "We've never seen you before in our lives, pal."

Bobby started muttering something; sounded like an exorcism. Sam was trying to go around behind the new visitor with his own gun drawn.

"Hold on," I said, pushing up onto my elbows, "you don't show up until season four."

Castiel looked down at me. "Ah, good, Dean found you."

None of the other three men seemed to have heard what I'd said, too focused on trying to get a bead on the angel.

"Omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanic potes-" Bobby's chanting got louder.

Castiel stared at us with an oddly apologetic expression. "I am very sorry to have to do this." The angel snapped his fingers; there was a blast of wind and the world just….blinked out.

* * *

><p>I wondered if I was truly awake this time; for real awake and not just entering another REM cycle. There've been times that I'd have dreams that would feel incredibly realistic, I'd think I'd woken up, and it'd turn out to be another dream sequence. I opened my eyes. "Fuuuck," I groaned, squeezing them shut. Nothing changed when I reopened them, unfortunately.<p>

In front of me was Dean, sprawled out in tall grass, moaning about his head.  
>Sam was just sitting up, rubbing his non-bruised eye and blinking around in confusion. "What the hell just happened?" he asked.<p>

"I don't know, but when we get back, **I'm gonna find that motherfucker and gank his creepy IRS ass!"** Dean shouted the last part toward the sky as he'd been getting to his knees.

I slowly got to my feet, trying to get a better look at where we might be. The air smelled of hayfields in late fall, dusty afternoons and sun-baked forest leaves. God, I missed the country. I took a huge breath in through my nose.

"Dude, we're cowboys," Dean said once he was standing. "Check it out."

Sam rolled his eyes and muttered something about Clint Eastwood.

I looked down at my own outfit: worn brown trousers, a tattered sack coat, no shoes, a too-large shirt and a rope belt. "Great, even in this nightmare I'm broke as shite." I clapped my hand over my mouth.

Dean scoffed. "When did you start channeling Lucky the Leprechaun?"

Sam punched him in the shoulder.

"What?"

"We need to find a town or something," he said, turning in a circle. "Someplace to lay low for a while; get our bearings."

Dean shook his head. "No way. We gotta figure out what that thing was that zapped us here, summon the bitch and make-."

"How're we gonna do that in the middle of a field?" Sam asked. "I don't have my laptop!"

"Dude, how hard can it be to get information? We've been doing this our whole lives."

"We don't even know what **state** we're in, Dean!"

"So? Every town's got a library, right? Let's go find one and get our asses outta here."

"We need a plan first!"

* * *

><p>When the argument between the two brothers didn't look like it was going to wind down any time soon, I started poking around the grass for snakes, mostly for something to do. Dean and Sam were getting on my nerves; in a forty-five minute show, a little bit of sibling rivalry was amusing. In a situation like this…not so much. Looking up, I saw them start playing rock-paper-scissors. "Feck it," I muttered in my brand-new Irish accent. "Jaysus, I soun' like a cheesy Collin Farrell." Walking away, I saw that the field sloped down toward a road. "I'm gonna scout on ahead," I called back to them, pretty sure that they'd forgotten I was even there.<p>

The grass rustled as they ran after me.

"Whoa, hold up, kid. Nobody's going anywhere yet," Sam said, putting a hand on my shoulder. "We still have to figure out our game plan. Besides, you're too young to be on your own."

"Feck off." Rolling my eyes, I jerked away from Sam's grip. "Yer not me da."

"Look, I know you don't get what's going on, but wandering around by yourself is too dangerous right now." He said. "You'll be safer if you stay where we can see you."

"Don't patronize me." Clenching my jaw, mostly to hold back the profanity welling in my throat, I took a deep breath, letting it out through my nose. "I don't need lookin' after by babbysitters." My voice was too young and the accent was too thick for that to sound believable, even to my own ears. "I can take care of meself."

Sam stood back from me and crossed his arms. "Look, you might not like it, but you're our responsibility now."

I gave him the finger.

He looked at his older brother. "A little help here?"

"No way, man; this is between you and the kid." He raised his hands. "I'm not gettin' in the middle of a pissing contest." Dean grinned, clearly having a 'this is the kind of shit I had to put up with from you at that age' moment.

"He's our resp-"  
>"Responsibility. You said that already."<p>

"He's a kid!"

"Dude, he's like, fourteen. We were salting and burning at that age; he can handle a little walking around in the middle of nowhere."

"A little walking around? He fell out of the sky and you almost creamed him last night. That's not-."

"I was there, dude. I'm not an idiot."

That was it; I couldn't stand listening to them anymore. "Can it, the both of ye!" I shook my head. "We can't find out information of **anythin'** without knowin' where the hell we are first. An' we can't know where we are when the two o' youse're standin' around dick-measurin'." Gesturing toward the edge of the field, I scowled at them. "There's a road. Pick a feckin' direction. Start walkin'. Simple as that."

Dean tilted his head and gazed at me for a second. "How many in your family?"

"Oldest outta five; two of 'em sisters."

"Yowza."

"You've no idea. Yer lucky just ta have the one."

Sam's expression went from exasperated and bitchy to completely lost. "What're you talking about?"

"I know an older brother tone when I hear one." Dean chuckled. "It's kinda like bein' a member of a secret society." He patted Sam on the back. "As the baby of the family, you just wouldn't understand."

"Huh?"

Dean and I exchanged a look.

"Oh, Sammy." He sighed dramatically and put his hands over his heart. "So adorably innocent. I still have so much work to do."

Going along with it, I nodded wisely. "We do what we must ta harden them fer their own good. 'Tis a harsh world of many dangers."

"Dude, that accent works in an extra level of…uh…."

"Sagacity?"

"Yeah, that word."

We started laughing at the completely dumbfounded expression on Sam's face.

"You're so full of shit, Dean." Sam stalked toward the road. "And stop encouraging him!"

"He doesn't need encouraging; he's already had more practice at it than I ever will," he called. "He uses his skills against **sisters**, Sammy; those are way more dangerous than anything we've ever gone up against." Dean started after him.

"Stop calling me Sammy!"

I had to run to catch up; bastards had longer legs.

* * *

><p>The road turned out to be little more than packed dirt full of deep, uneven ruts made by narrow wheels and heavy loads. Kneeling down, I looked for signs of tire tread. "What the hell?"<p>

Dean came to stoop beside me. "What is it, kid?"

"I don't see anythin' but hoof prints an' these deep ruts." I traced my finger over a large print. "By the size, I'd say a draft horse, or a really large mule made this one."

"How'd you learn to track?"

"I'm self-taught," I said. "Grew up in the country; helped out on farms an' spent a lot of time climbin' around in hills." Shaking my head, I closed my eyes. "This is insane."

"It's okay, we'll figure this out." He patted my left shoulder. "By the way, what's your name? Sam and I can't keep calling you 'kid' all the time."

"Thomas Scanlan."

"Dean Winchester." He pushed himself to his feet and held his hand out to me. "That's kinda redundant, though, since you already know my first name."

Taking the offer for help up, I gripped his hand and stood. "What if tha'…what if ye get ahold of that guy what sent us here an' he doesn't send us back? Or he can't?" Looking up at him, I felt my throat start to tighten. "I don't wanna be stuck."

"Whoa, hey, one problem at a time, okay?" He started walking back toward Sam. "We'll figure this out."

Shoving my hands into my coat pockets, I tried to avoid sharp pebbles. "I fell outta th' sky last night. Now I'm suddenly Irish, an'…. I want this just ta be a really bizarre dream."

Dean didn't say anything, just walked slower to match my pace.

"It's not, though, is it?"

"Nope." After a few seconds, he said, "No offense, but you talk like you're a lot older than you look."

Glancing up, I sighed. "Las' night, 'fore I landed in front of yer car, when I went ta bed I was t'irty-t'ree."

He stopped short. "Seriously?"

"Yep." I scoffed. "I'm even a veteran. Seabees."

"Jesus." He looked ahead to where Sam was standing. "No wonder you got pissed; you're older than both of us."

"Yeah." For a couple seconds, I thought about telling him that he and Sam were TV characters on a show that I liked to watch, and that I knew eight seasons worth of their plot line. I shook my head at the idea. He wouldn't believe it, Sam would flip out and think I was in on whatever was going on with Castiel and getting stuck….wherever we were.

"You okay in there?"

"Huh?"

He chuckled. "You look like you're calculating some intense math problems."

"It'd be third grade level if I was."

"Right. Gotcha."

* * *

><p>No one spoke as we followed the road for what felt like three hours. Sam kept trying to "casually" watch me by walking slowly enough that he was trailing behind.<p>

After a while, I couldn't take his constant staring anymore and stopped. "Just say what's on yer mind; this is getting' on me nerves."

"Tommy, are you sure you're feeling okay?" he asked, actually stooping in front of me and putting his hands on my shoulders. "It's okay to tell us if you're feeling freaked out, you know."

Dean moaned, face palming. "Here we go."

"I'm **fine**." Backing up, I swatted his arms off. "An' don't ever call me 'Tommy.' It's **Thomas**. I'm not a feckin' child."

"Leave him alone, Sam."

"Dean he's not-."

"We've talked it out already," he said. "Dude's fine."

Sam didn't look very convinced, but stood up anyway. "He's been through a lot of trauma in less than a day."

"Gettin' t'rough boot camp in the middle of a Chicago winter while sufferin' from severe bronchitis, on top o' inner ear infections that left me mostly deaf fer four months is trauma. **This**," I said, waving my arms around for emphasis, "is a walk in the woods wit' the Two Stooges."

Dean snorted.

"Don't laugh; this is serious. He's obviously having some kind of-."

"I'm laughin' at **you**, Sammy."

"Isn't his fault he doesn't know I'm a hell of a lot older'n I look," I pointed out.

Sam scowled. "How much older?"

"I'm t'irty-t'ree." I watched his expression. "Me new accent isn't even close ta bein' as weird as wakin' up as a teenager again."

His jaw hung open and he blinked a few times before turning to Dean. "Did you check him for possession?"

"Yes." Dean crossed his arms, affronted. "Think I'm an idiot?"

"Oh God." He looked down at me and groaned. "I was talking to him like he's a little kid."

"Yup, you were."

"As long as ye don't do it again, we're cool," I said with a shrug. "If ye forget, I'll just shave yer head while yer sleepin'."

Dean burst out laughing when Sam clapped his hands instinctively over his hair.

"I'm **really** sorry."

I smiled. "It's fine. Should've told ye before; not yer fault."

* * *

><p>"'Holy fuck! How the fuckin' <strong>fuck<strong> did you fuckin' fucks fuck fuckin'…..**FUCK**!'" Dean yelled Rocco's line from the Boondock Saints. He was pretty good, actually.

"'Well, that certainly illustrates the diversity of the word,'" I said, quoting Murphy.

"Ha! You got that line perfect!"

"Did ye know that Willem Defoe is from Appleton, Wisconsin?"

"Seriously?"

"Aye," I nodded. "An' Harrison Ford himself went ta college in Racine."

"No shit?"

"I'm pretty sure they've got pictures of 'im in their filim school brochures."

Dean looked down at me. "Dude, say that again."

"What?"

"Film."

"Filim?"

He laughed. "Filim. That's awesome."

Sam shook his head. "You guys done playing around? I think I see some buildings up ahead."

"Buzzkill," I muttered, going ahead to see what he was talking about.

As the road widened ahead, I saw a blacksmith/livery stable next to a two-story white building. Across from the blacksmith were a barn and a paddock with a few horses in it.

Further on, across a little bridge over a pond, was a lumber and grain mill. A white school house/church stood a little beyond the mill, and then the general goods mercantile with its attached house.

My stomach dropped and dread welled from deep within my soul. "Oh, no. No, no, no. This can't be happenin'."

Dean and Sam were standing next to me, their jaws hanging open in abject horror.

Blinking and shaking his head, Sam glanced down at me. "Tell me that isn't…"

I gulped. "It is."

Dean turned around and started walking away.

"Where're you going?" Sam followed him. "We need answers."

"Nuh uh. No way!" He brushed off his brother's attempt to stop him. "I am **not** going into **that** town."

"Dean, what other choice do we have?"

He glared at Sam. "Walk in other direction."

This **had** to be some kind of sick joke Gabriel/Loki/the Trickster was playing. I started mentally praying, hoping to summon the asshole. Why the hell was I involved, anyway? I'm nobody; I'm a jobless freak of nature up to my ears in debt. What was the point of plopping me into the middle of some bizarro genre mash-up fever dream? I groaned. "Maybe I'm in hell. I'm dead, and this is hell."

I looked around for any sign of that sweet-toothed, smug, lizard lipped little shit of an archangel. Nothing.

"For all we know, the next town over is freakin' Mayberry! Or worse. Pleasantville!"

Dean stopped struggling against Sam's attempts to drag him back and slumped his shoulders in defeat. He looked at me, then at his brother. "Son of bitch!"


End file.
